To The Edge
by Lyonene
Summary: Two villains go head to head with a child psychiatrist and by extension, Bruce Wayne, caught in the middle. Secrets come out, plans unravel and people's lives are about to change. Nolanverse w/Akrham Asylum/City mixed in. Ft: Joker and Scarecrow. ON HOLD.
1. Unpleasant

**Summary: **Two villains go head to head with a child psychiatrist and by extension, Bruce Wayne, caught in the middle.

**Detailed Summary:** Faith Rennes is a child psychiatrist and indulges in biochemistry as a hobby. Her ties to Bruce Wayne, her past history and the current secret she has been hiding ever since coming to Gotham are all about to come out into the harsh light of day to be examined, revealed and exploited when she's assigned a new patient -who isn't a child. To make things worse, she voluntarily takes on a research project on top of everything else going on, unable to resist the temptation of Project Titan.

**Featuring:** The Joker, Batman/Bruce Wayne and Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane and more.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing, it all belongs to D.C.

**A/N:** This is my first Batman fan fic and a serious stray from my usual fandoms, so be gentle with me! I'll be honest: I know very little about Batman in terms of everything but the movies, those I have memorized fairly well, which works out as this story is set in Nolan-verse. All my info is taken from Batman Begins and The Dark Knight along with some help from Wikis.

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><p><strong>0108/12:** Alright, I got swept up in Arkham Aslyum and Arkham City (got them as a bundle for Xmas) and began rethinking this story. So... everything has been rewritten though the changes aren't really noticeable until chapter 4. Movie-based, game-based, but set in Nolan-verse because cartoony writing really isn't my thing, so hopefully this comes out as realistic as possible.

**Spoilers:** Probably.

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><p><strong>1: Unpleasant <strong>

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><p>"This is idiotic."<p>

"Dr. Rennes, if you feel that you are… somehow unable to do this, be it from a lack of_ experience _or _fear_, then that is fine. I'm sure I can find someone with the ability to handle the case."

Faith Rennes knew that Warden Quincy Sharp, head of the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane –or simply Arkham Asylum- was trying to provoke her. His emphasis on experience and fear was a barb that was doubled. He was playing on her ego with the jab at experience as well as hinting she might be a coward.

Also, she refused to play games with this odious, pompous little man who fancied himelf her boss. He might have had the label of 'warden' but Arkham Asylum operated via a board these days, with him at the helm as a figurehead for the most part. His power only went so far, something Faith was sure he hated passionately.

As she was also on the board and considered a lead authority in her area as well as a highly respected public figure, she rarely felt compelled to allow him to intimidate her with his 'authority'. Quincy Sharp was no psychiatrist, therapist, or any other type of doctor even if he liked to present himself as such. He was an imbecile who was using his position at Arkham to further his political aspirations.

Other than the fact that he was legally insane, Faith sometimes missed Dr. Crane as the head psychiatrist of Arkham. Disregarding his criminal and very unethical tendencies, he had at least known what he was doing.

Not that she would ever voice that outside her own head, it wouldn't have been very politically correct these days.

In the two years since Crane had gone completely mental a lot had changed on the island. Billionaire Bruce Wayne had stepped in with his checkbook to help with not only the repairs needed to make Arkham inhabitable again after Crane had released not only his fear toxin but the inmates being held on the island.

That was bad enough, but when you factored in that island was not only home to the Aslyum and its correlating buildings but also the Narrows –a type of slum that was inhabited by both the extremely poor of Gotham but also criminals, well… Crane had proven himself to be perhaps not insane but definitely evil. Or at least that was what his current doctor –he had gone through quite the string of them since being apprehended after months on the run- had said.

Of course the repairs had been put on hold during the Joker's brief but memorable reign of terror, and then the better part of the rest of the year had been spent in quickly rebuilding in order to hold two of Gotham's most notorious. The Scarecrow and the Joker, both men caught by the Batman.

"My experience is not the issue." Faith said flatly, staring at Quincy from cool, slate gray eyes. "The issue is that I work with children, not sociopathic adults."

"Are you refusing to make an exception in this case?"

She was sorely tempted to rub her temples, feeling a headache blooming and let out a resigned sigh. While Quincy couldn't force her into taking the case, or fire her, he could –unfortunately- make her life miserable. "I will _look_ at the case file."

"It's on your desk." Quincy said in a smug tone.

She wanted nothing more than to wipe that look off his face with the palm of her hand but instead contented herself with giving him a steely smile. "Of course."

* * *

><p>"You don't seem to be in the best of moods tonight."<p>

"Hmm?" Faith looked up from the oysters she was contemplating, meeting a familiar pair of warm brown eyes across the table.

Bruce Wayne was staring at her, an almost amused smile playing his lips. "What's going on in that head of yours, Faith?" He wondered aloud, tracing the tip of his finger around the rim of his champagne flute. "I can never tell."

"Now Bruce, please tell me you're not going to try to analyze me."

"Not until dessert, at least." He raised his glass, toasting her before taking a sip. "Why aren't you eating? You love oysters."

"I suppose I'm not hungry tonight." Faith murmured, pulling her gaze from his and took a small drink of her own champagne, just for something to do besides pretend to be interested in her food. That charade was over. She liked Bruce but he was more observant than he had originally let on.

Her initial impression of him when they had first been introduced was that he was a playboy with a passing interest in helping with the restoration of Arkham Island and possibly the Narrows. She figured he wanted to impress someone or the public in general, drawing that conclusion from his reputation as an idiot billionaire with a taste for spending obscene amounts of money and having a different model on his arm every week.

As time went on, she realized there was more to Bruce Wayne then his money and his penchant for tall, leggy blondes. He was genuinely interested in the rebuilding of the Asylum and surrounding buildings as well as interested in her own personal work in the children's psychiatric ward. He had become an official patron of the Arkham's children psychiatric center.

It didn't take long for Faith to realize that Bruce needed an outlet, something to distract himself from the loss of his friend Rachel Dawes, something he was still grieving over. So when he wasn't busy with his philandering or company, and whatever else he did when he wasn't around her, he spent time with her in the clinic.

Or at least, that was how it started.

In the nearly two years' time they had known each other, they had gone from casual acquaintances to rather good friends. Instead of him popping into the clinic a few hours or so every other week, he now came on a regular basis, usually bringing volunteers with him. Since this was Bruce Wayne, he also brought the stalkerazzi and the attention of the press.

That in itself was both a good thing and a bad thing as it drew unwanted attention to herself but much needed attention to the clinic. Even though the ward was technically a part of the Arkham system, it wasn't as widely advertised as the rest of the 'services' Arkham offered. Since Bruce was publically endorsing it, so were other rich Gothamites. It had become almost a trend to donate money; it would have been sickening if not for the fact that she was too practical to care where the money came from so long as it came.

Then, factor in that they went out to dinner together every week, schedules providing-, that just seemed to add fuel to the flames. One week they were dating, the next Bruce was cheating on her, and the following they were back together. It was almost amusing, almost.

"Not even for something with an ungodly amount of chocolate in it?" Bruce asked teasingly, drawing her attention back to him.

"Mmm, maybe I am a bit hungry." Faith allowed, pulling her hands away from the table as he gestured for the waiter to remove their plates. "Quincy gave me a new case today."

That explained her lack of an appetite. Bruce knew Faith despised the director of Arkham Asylum, who treated her like his inferior even though she had been there longer than he had and was well known in her field.

Quincy didn't like Faith any better than she liked him and a lot of that had to do with the fact that Bruce had donated a generous amount of money towards the renovation of the asylum, continued donating and then becoming a recognized patron. What really bothered Quincy was that Bruce had chosen to associate himself with the children's ward instead of one of the others, Faith's ward.

Bruce had also been the one to suggest that Arkham needed a board of directors, not just a single director. He had cited Crane as the person reason, a head of power who had abused his position. A board would curb that and keep the 'man in charge' in line. Quincy hadn't liked that one bit as it meddled a bit with his political aspirations. Nor had he appreciated Faith's appointment to the board, another suggestion of Bruce's. He had viewed that as a type of ultimatum, accept her or lose my patronage.

"What is it this time? A child who thinks he's the second coming?" Bruce asked, knowing it was bad taste as well as horrible humor to bring that up but he couldn't help it. One of her cases at the asylum was a boy, aged 13, who honestly thought he was Jesus Christ and had even tried converting Faith on a number of occasions.

Faith did not find that amusing as the boy in question had also murdered his parents while they slept, claiming they were demons from hell sent to corrupt him and turn him from his path of offering universal redemption.

Bruce, admittedly, sometimes had a warped sense of humor.

"No, actually, it's not a child at all."

"Not a child?"

Faith took a deep breath. "Quincy has given me the Joker."


	2. Joseph Kerr and Juanita Dekter

**2: Joseph Kerr and Juanita Dekter**

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><p>"Why not rig the ferries to explode after a set amount of time?"<p>

That was not usually the way Faith opened a session with a new patient, but after spending her weekend reading through the Joker's rather extensive files, she knew going with the traditional line of questioning was only going to take them in circles.

She seated herself across the table from him, taking in the straightjacket he wore, knowing his ankles were cuffed together and then took in the collar around his throat, arching an eyebrow. She gathered there was a chain cuffing him to the chair from that collar. While others may have found these precautions a bit severe and unorthodox, she was rather pleased with them. She had no desire to find herself at death's door because of this mad man.

He looked much different in his present state than he did in the mug shot she had of him and what she had seen on the television from his reign of terror nearly a year ago. His hair was no longer green, nor greasy and unkempt but clean. It was a bit curly, and a dark blonde, bordering on light brown. Without his customary face paint, he was rather handsome, if you overlooked the scars.

What was disconcerting were his eyes. They were what could be termed as a warm chocolate brown, without any warmth. She could discern nothing in his eyes and that was what bothered her most. One of his previous psychiatrists –who was now on a long, long vacation- had made a note of 'considerable lack of empathy', which was unsurprising. Another doctor had put down 'antisocial personality disorder', there was 'narcissism', and her personal favorite: 'fucking lunatic'.

"What would be the, uh, _fun_ in tha**t**?" he finally replied, answering her question with a question, his tongue darting out of his mouth to swipe at his scars, forcibly reminding her of a reptile.

"I would assume the fun would be in letting the passengers have thought they were safe when neither ship blew up at midnight only to kill them regardless."

"In_ter_esting." He leaned forward in his chair, studying her just as intently as she was studying him. "What would _you_ have, uh, _done_?"

Her first thought was to say that she wouldn't have done it to begin with, which was the truth. But it was also the answer he was probably expecting. "I would have caused the boats to explode regardless." She said finally.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Why… no**t**…" He echoed, licking his chapped licks, something she noted he did frequently. "I like you, doc-tor…?" His eyes scanned her dove gray sweater for a name badge, not finding one and merely smiled at her, revealing his yellow stained teeth.

"Tepple, Dr. Samantha Tepple."

"_That's_ not your _real_ name, is **it**, doc-tor?"

"Is Joker your real name?" Faith enquired pleasantly, plastering a cool smile on her unpainted lips.

"Touché." They simply stared at one another until he broke the silence. "Joseph Kerr."

She considered that, the smile never faltering. "Juanita Dekter."

"Juanita Dekter… Ju… nita… dek… ter… You need a doctor."

Faith hid a shudder when he began laughing uncontrollably, shooting a glance towards the steel door where a guard lurked, his forgettable face filling the small square, plexiglass window. Somewhat reassured, she gave her attention back to the hysterical maniac who probably would have been rolling on the floor at this point if he hadn't been restrained.

Just as suddenly as he started, he stopped, lunging forward as far and quickly as the straightjacket and chains would allow him. "I _like_ you, Doc." He growled, the somewhat nasally tone she had become accustomed to deepening, darkening. "We're going to have fun together… I, ah, I can _tell_."

* * *

><p>"I <em>did<em> have the ferries rigged to explode, you know. The, uh, the Ba**t**-man stop_ped_ me."

This was day two of their sessions. Faith had promised Quincy that she would give the Joker one hour a day for exactly one week and no more. She had other patients to tend too, regular patients, patients of the adolescent variety.

"How did he stop you?" She asked, her hands folded on the table between them.

Today was no different than yesterday in terms of set-up. He was still heavily restrained and she hadn't been allowed to bring anything but a tape recorder into the room as pencils or pens had the potential to be dangerous, for her. Of course if he somehow managed to get free, he could always bash her head in with the small recorder of maybe even attempt cramming it down her throat. She banished those morbid thoughts almost as quickly as they entered her mind.

"How did _he_ sto**p** me, Doc?"

She arched an eyebrow.

"_He_ strung me up! Instead of let-ting me go **SPLAT** on the concrete below, he _saved_ me. I really think _he_ should be the one in this room with you, _he's_ the craazzyy one, not _me_."

"So, you're saying the Batman is crazy for… saving your life?" Faith reiterated, frowning slightly. The Joker was not suicidal, that much was obvious. Though while not actively seeking his death, that didn't mean he feared it either, interesting.

"Of course. Would you let me live if you had the, uh, the chance to stop me?"

"This isn't about what I would do."

"Of course it is, doc. You know what I've done, what I am, ah, cape-a-ble _of_." He stretched the words, popping his 'p' with obvious relish as he regarded her. "You _wouldn't_ put me down if you had the oppor-tun-i-ty?"

"Again, this isn't about what I would do."

"Doc, you're not playing the, uh, game, you're s'posed to _an_swer the question."

"I did answer the question. Back to the ferries, how did Batman stop you, did you have a detonator like you provided your victims with?"

"I don't like that _word_. Vic-tims. It makes them sound so inno-cent when _none_ of them were. Not a, uh, single one." He glared at her, his eyes scouring her face for who knew what. "You're not inn-o-cent either, are ya Doc?"

And that concluded their session.

* * *

><p>"The Joker is not insane, at least, not in the technical sense of the word. His brand of 'insanity' is-" Faith cut off midsentence when she heard the door to her apartment open. She didn't live in the 'upper class' section of Gotham nor did she live in a section that could have given the now desolate Narrows a run for its money. She was comfortably settled in what could best be deemed 'middle class' and though crime was still a problem –it was Gotham after all- she was still surprised to find someone just strolling in her door.<p>

Frowning, she rolled off her bed where she had been recording her thoughts for her notes and padded towards the bedroom door, halting long enough to retrieve her aluminum baseball bat from next to her dresser.

Quietly making her way down the narrow hallway, she heard the intruder walking from her living room, through her den and into the kitchen. Gray eyes narrowed when she next heard her refrigerator door opening, wondering what kind of thief ate before casing the place.

"Don't you own anything stronger than wine?"

"Bruce?" Relief coursed through her and she nearly sagged against the cream colored wall. "What the hell are you doing here?" She demanded a second later, dropping the bat and storming into the kitchen.

She was greeted to the sight of Bruce Wayne setting her cheap bottle of sangria on the counter. What was odd was that he looked… "Are you_ drunk_?" She had seen him drink, but never seen him intoxicated, nor did she want too. "Bruce! Answer me!"

He ignored her, busy now searching her cupboards for glasses and finally settled on two plain plastic tumblers. After pouring them each a measure, he turned and held on of the glasses out to her.

Faith got her first good look at his face. His eyes were red but not overly blurry or glassy, so he had just recently started his drinking binge. His usually impeccable hair was disheveled as was the business suit he wore. Frowning, she took the glass, still staring at him. "Bruce, what's wrong?" She asked softly, her curiosity at just how he had gotten into her apartment overridden by concern.

"Do you know what today is?" He asked, his voice low and flat.

She shook her head no.

"Today is Rachel's birthday." He raised his own tumbler to her in a mocking toast. "Cheers."


	3. Just Friends

**3: Just Friends**

"I'm not leaving."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." Bruce folded his hands beneath his head, staring up at the bedroom ceiling. "I'm not leaving, I'm calling in today."

Shaking her head, Faith rolled onto her side, propping her own head up on the palm of her hand, elbow planted firmly in the mattress beneath her. "You're not staying in my bed all day, sorry to disappoint you." She informed him, reaching out to gently brush his hair back off his forehead. "I have to be at work in two hours."

Bruce caught her hand, drawing it down until her palm was resting on his chest, just over his heart. "So take a half day. When was the last time you played hooky?"

"Never."

He laughed at her. "Of course not, I almost forgot who I was talking too."

"Bruce, we both have obligations, lying in bed isn't going to make those go away." She said patiently, though she was smiling at him. After last night's episode in her kitchen, she had fully expected him to get, what was the expression… "totally shit-faced" on her, but he hadn't. Instead he had finished off her sangria and simply spoke. He talked quietly about Rachel.

He had told her about their childhood, his and Rachel's, and how they had grown up together. Each from a different social class but best friends nonetheless. The part of her that was forever analytical and stuck in psychiatry wanted to offer words that she knew he didn't want to hear. He didn't need to be analyzed, diagnosed or offered words of professional advice. What he needed was someone to listen, like a friend.

Which, technically, she was his friend. So she had listened. She had listened and not said a word, just kept her attention solely focused on him and let him know, silently, that she was there for him.

Apparently that had been enough because he was in rather bright spirits this morning. That or Bruce was a great actor.

"You know, you are the first woman in my bed who hasn't wanted to stay." He said thoughtfully, studying her with a slight pout on his lips.

"Technically, Bruce, this isn't your bed, it's mine." Faith chuckled, pulling her hand away from him. "And I'm not even going to venture into why they want to leave."

"Either my considerable bedroom skills or wealth, possibly both."

"No comment." She turned away from him, sliding out from beneath her cotton sheets. Both she and Bruce had slept in the bed, but not with each other in the Biblical sense. Sharing a bed with Bruce had never been on her list of things to do but it had happened. All they had done was lie in it, talk and sleep, which was preferable to any other alternatives.

Not that she didn't find him attractive; Bruce was obviously a very attractive man, in many different ways. He just wasn't her _type_.

Sighing, Bruce shifted until he was lying on his stomach, watching her. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

It was remarkable how without his three-piece suit and in a personal setting like this, he looked almost like a little boy. She turned to study him, taking in his tousled brown hair and the white undershirt he wore along with a pair of sweat pants she had procured for him. Sweat pants he had oh-so-casually enquired about, as to who they belonged too, and she had just smiled sweetly and asked 'wouldn't you like to know?'

He did not currently look like one of the world's richest men and she idly wondered how much the media would pay for a picture of him like this.

"You're smirking."

"I'm not mad at you, and I'm smirking because I had an amusing thought."

"Do tell." He said dryly, having a feeling it was a thought relating to him.

"I don't think I will." Faith turned her back on him to rifle around in her dresser, pulling out undergarments. "You're more than welcome to stay if you like; I believe I have... frozen waffles in the freezer. Though... they're probably freezer burnt..." Eating at home was something she very rarely did so she generally had no idea what was in her cupboards or refrigerator, usually something very well past its expiration date.

At that, he let out an indignant snort. "I am not eating your freezer burnt waffles, Faith. Why don't you call in and let them know you'll be late?" Bruce slid off the bed, walking up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, stopping her from going to the closet. "We'll go have breakfast."

"Bruce..." She groaned, trying to shrug him away only to wind up leaning back into him as he began to massage her shoulder. "That really isn't fair; you can't always get your way."

"Sure I can." He murmured.

"No, really, you can't." Faith pulled away for real this time, having caught the way his voice had lowered and continued in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner for the closet. From time to time, she noticed a change in Bruce, especially regarding the way he seemed to view her. At times, they were simply friends. Others, she was fairly certain he was trying to insinuate himself as something more than just her friend.

Not that she didn't appreciate the attention, because she did. What woman wouldn't? However... things were a bit... complicated already without adding him to the mix.

"Come on, let's get dressed and we'll go have breakfast." She urged finally, turning to stare at him and then surveyed his suit, which he had left in a pile on the floor. It was definitely going to be rumpled, which was a shame since that suit probably cost enough money to feed a small army.

He arched an eyebrow at her sudden change of mind but didn't say a word.

~!~

"Oh look, you made page two..." Faith drawled, peering over the top of her newspaper at Bruce. They had come to a little bistro down the street from her apartment –after she had called work to let them know she was 'running late' and to reschedule her morning. With a bowl of fresh fruit and a basket of muffins between them, coffee had made the meal complete. Well, in Bruce's case, sausage and bacon had made it complete, she was currently on a 'no meat for breakfast' diet.

"Hmm... did I now? What does it say?" He asked disinterestedly, more intent on his cell phone, thumbing through e-mail.

"It says you... wait a second..." She snorted into her coffee, cursing when some spilt on her and quickly set the mug down. "Bruce!"

"What?" Bruce looked at her, arching an eyebrow when she thrust the paper at him and sighed, reaching out to take it. "Bruce Wayne was spotted entering the apartment building of the very well-known Doctor Faith Rennes, a child psychiatrist. Dr. Rennes is renowned for her work with children at Arkham Asylum and has recently taken the Joker, the man who terrorized Gotham not so long ago, on as a patient. Is Bruce concerned for his lady-love's," He paused to repeat that soundlessly, mouthing the word and shook his head before clearing his throat. "Welfare now that she has strayed from her usual, relatively safe work with children and into dangerous territory with one of the most notorious criminals in recent years?"

Bruce went to close the paper only to find it being ripped out of his hands, looking at Faith in alarm. "It wasn't that bad, they could have said much worse..." He trailed off when he seen the color fading from her face. "What's wrong?"

Faith wasn't paying him any attention now, her eyes darting back and forth as she read.

When she slumped back into her chair, he flipped the paper over and felt his insides turning cold as he read the header.

**Scarecrow Escapes Arkham**.


	4. Project Titan

**A/N:** If you're a procrastinator like me and just now getting around to play Arkham Aslyum, this is where the spoilers start to kick in. For everyone else, I took liberties with things, I'm sure you'll notice. This chapter has been changed –mostly at the end- drastically from what I originally had posted.

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><p><strong>4: Project Titan<strong>

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><p>"The, uh, <em>way <em>the asylum has been running lately, you'd think they for-go**t** the rest of us."

"Well they didn't. As I'm sure you've noticed, you're still restrained, nobody's forgotten you."

"Pity." Joker watched as Faith settled herself across the table from him, taking in her less than polished appearance. "Rough morning, Doc?"

"No." She set the tape recorder between them. "Now, where'd we leave off?" She hadn't come in yesterday, instead she had said goodbye to Bruce, gone home and called in for the rest of the day.

He clicked his tongue at her, looking appalled. "Don't tell me you're, ah, about to turn into a _regular_ shrink, _Faithy_. That_ would_ make this bor-ing, and when I, uh, get bored..." He smiled at her, one of his awful, teeth baring smiles. "_Bad_ things tend to, ah... hap-**pen**."

It took Faith a full minute to realize just what was wrong with that sentence. It wasn't the fact that he had made an implied threat, he was the Joker after all, it was the fact that he knew her name. He knew her name. She had given strict instructions that no one was to give him her damn name! "Well, I see we've been busy while I was gone." She said finally, staring at him flatly.

"Yes, _we_ have." Where she was flat, he was rather lively, bouncing in his seat as much as the straightjacket would allow him. "So tell me, _Dr. Rennes_, one professional to another, what's _your_ take on the, uh, Scarecrow?"

"On Dr. Crane you mean?" She asked, a bit thrown off by the sudden shift in topic. "I don't have... a take."

"Sure you do." He prodded, enunciating 'do' several syllables to many. "C'mon Doc, you weren't here yesterday and I, uh, need some stim-u-lating conversation."

Taking a deep breath, Faith considered his question. "Brilliant mind, coupled with what is undoubtedly madness, my professional opinion is-"

"Why do you think he calls himself _Scarecrow_?" Joker interrupted, licking at his scars, obviously not minding the exasperated look she shot him.

"I'm sure I don't know."

"I've heard it's because of his, ah, his mask."

"Oh?"

"Mmm... hmm..." He leaned towards her as much as he could. "You don't seem very interested in our conversation, Faithy, why is that?"

"I-"

"Did you _know_ him? Were the good doctors... acquaint-**ted**?"

"That really isn't pertinent to-"

"Answer. The. Question."

"Yes." She whispered, unable to look away from him and having no idea why not. His eyes were nearly black and as she had noted before: empty.

Smirking, he sat back, leaning into his chair and just stared at her.

* * *

><p>"I'm fine Bruce, honestly..." Faith said into her landline telephone, cradling the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she scooped herself out an unhealthy amount of Rocky Road ice cream. "You just- what is it you're doing tonight?"<p>

"Charity event. Something that promises to be rather dull, are you sure you won't come?"

"I'm sure, thank you." She laughed, able to plainly hear the annoyance in his tone. Despite his reputation for being a partying, womanizing bachelor, he wasn't all that fond of parties. He didn't seem to mind the charity aspect, just all the people. "You should take... um, what was that blonde's name?"

"Which one?"

"Just pick one and take her."

"But you're much more stimulating." He leered, laughing openly when she made a disgusted sound. "Alright, alright, you stay at home." Bruce's good humor flagged and when he spoke again, he was completely serious. "Are you sure you'll be alright? You seemed... rather upset yesterday."

"I'm fine Bruce, quit asking." She said exasperatedly. "It was just a shock is all. I did work with the guy."

"Are you-"

"Bruce, please. Go attend your party with a blond you'll forget all about come morning."

"Ouch, Faith." Bruce chuckled. "You sure know how to aim those darts."

"Straight for the heart."

As soon as she had hung up, Faith dumped her ice cream in the sink and ran the water to flush it down the drain, her appetite gone.

* * *

><p>"We need to talk."<p>

"Penelope, I am rather busy." Faith said dryly, not looking up from her case notes. An actual case, not the Joker either, who had been regulated to her for another week since so far she was 'making progress', or at least, he hadn't tried to kill her yet. On top of her usual caseload, she now had the pleasure of trying to decipher the recordings from her Joker sessions.

Penelope Young, head the research department, was not one to be put off easily and now was no exception. "I need your help."

"Busy."

"With a... project..."

Faith slowly raised her gaze from the paperwork, eyeing Penelope shrewdly. "What project?"

"Come with me."

* * *

><p>"This... is... insane..."<p>

Penelope smiled slightly, pushing a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear. "That's what I thought at first too, but... now..."

Faith was already sifting through the data, her eyes widening as she read. "And it's stable?"

"That's where you come in, you're the biochemist."

"You mean to say you haven't tested it yet?"

"Well, the thing is... I have, on rats. However..." Penelope removed her glasses and began polishing them with the bottom of her lab coat. "I won't be able to come to any conclusive results unless I begin experimenting on human test subjects."

Now that was going to be a problem. Given what had happened with Dr. Crane's little 'experiments', Gotham had cracked down on Arkham's tendencies to test drugs on the patients, even when the doctors doing the testing were actually trying to help.

"You'll have to do it the same way everyone else does, hire people, make them sign a consent form and then pay them."

"I can't risk this project being leaked before I'm ready to unveil it."

"Who all knows about this?"

"You, me and Sharp."

"Anyone else?"

Penelope hesitated for a fraction of a second. "No."

Faith didn't even notice, still too busy pouring over the project and running several possible outcomes in trials in her mind. "What's this called?"

"Titan, project Titan."


	5. Something Familiar

**5: Something Familiar**

* * *

><p>"You're look-ing <em>more<em> tired than, uh, usu_al_, Faithy."

Week two with the Joker and Faith intended to make this her last week. Not only was he purposefully annoying and obviously frightening, but she just didn't have the time for him. "How are you today, Joker?" She asked, trying to inject some life into her tone. _Silver lining, last week_, she reminded herself, a small smile tugging the corner of her lips.

"_Me_?" He stared at her shrewdly, in his usual restraints, from across the table. "Oh, _I'm_ fine. Five-star accomm-o-dations, seven course meals **three** times a day, _ha ha_, and le**t's** not forge**t** the exq_uisite_ tennis court outside. How are _you_?"

"You forgot to mention the luxurious wardrobe." She said dryly.

"Well _th_a**t** was just _mean_, Doc."

"You're right, I apologize."

"You could at least, uh, _mean_ it."

"Alright, let's talk about last week."

"What abou**t** last week?" If he could have moved his hands, Faith got the impression he would have folded them on the tabletop before him. The way he seemed to move hinted he gesticulated a lot when talking.

"How did you learn my name?"

He leaned back as far as he could, somehow managing to give off the air that he was reclining in his seat, but those restraints had to make it uncomfortable. If it was, he showed no indication of it. "How does _any_one learn a, ah, name? They simply... _ask_."

Faith drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. It was going to be one of _those _kind of Mondays.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean you're closing it down?" If Faith had thought today couldn't get any worse, she had just been proven wrong. After her shift was over and long past the time she would have liked to clock out at, she had come to Penelope's lab. She would admit, to herself, that she had rushed through her notes and observations and perhaps ignored updating some patient's charts, in order to get here.<p>

She couldn't begin to explain to someone why she found project Titan so interesting but it was. The concept wasn't anything spectacular, it was actually rather Frankenstein in the initial concept. The goal was to increase a patient's physical and mental strength in order to withstand some of the more aggressive therapy Arkham offered. Physical strength could be affected by many factors, and Faith didn't think for one second Penelope was idiotic enough to buy into these sketches of muscular men that peeked out from under a stack of thin folders. Growth like that took time, and a lot of steriods among other treatments and exercise regimes.

It was the mental aspect that intrigued her most, that was probably the psychiatrist coming out in her.

"I mean just that, I'm shutting it down." Penelope said crossly, looking very... un-Penelope like. She was flustered, and looking much more ragged than Faith was, like she hadn't slept a wink all weekend. "I..." She looked at her wristwatch, frowning. "I have to go, could you get rid of all this?" She gestured to the long table that was laden down with folders, loose papers, and a bunch of other things. "Please?"

Faith simply nodded.

* * *

><p>"What is all this?"<p>

"Uh, notes."

Bruce looked at the papers scattered about the floor, forming a circle around Faith. "I brought take-out." He held up a plastic bag in each hand. "It's even Chinese." His nose wrinkled in mock disgust.

"Oh, great, just... put it on the table and I'll get this cleaned up." She got onto her knees, beginning to pull the papers towards her, shuffling them into a neat stack. "Did we have a dinner date tonight?" She called, hearing him in the kitchen retrieving plates and silverware.

"No."

"Well, not to be rude, but why are you here then?"

Bruce stepped out from behind the wall that separated her dining room/ living room and kitchen, looking mildly hurt. "I can't bring you dinner?"

"Normally you call first, Bruce." She said gently, depositing the papers back into the box she had brought them home in. "Not that I mind... it's just, weird." Faith tilted her head to the side, considering him. The other day the thought of 'he wants more' had crossed her mind, and this seemed to be cementing that theory. Sometime, sooner rather than later, she was going to have to reestablish the boundaries of their friendship.

"If it bothers you, I'll leave."

"No, don't!" Now she felt really bad and hurried towards the table, halting behind a chair in order to survey the food laid out. "I didn't mean to sound like a bitch, it just came out wrong."

He stared at her, obviously unsure if she was just trying to sooth his ego or if she meant it.

She smiled at him, gesturing to the nearest chair. "Please?"

"Ladies first."

Crisis averted.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until much later that Faith had a chance to resume poring over the notes from the beginning of project Titan. She had eaten with Bruce and then sat and chatted with him for an hour or so, trying not to seem pushy about getting him out her door. She valued his friendship –and she'd be lying if she said his donations towards Arkham and more to the point, the children's ward weren't nice- but tonight she just wanted to be alone.<p>

There were so many formulas involved, and some seemed to have absolutely nothing to do with the project while others were just... frightening, and vaguely familiar.

It wasn't until she came across a compound that she had to read twice that she realized why some formulas were ones she seemed to know.

Almost frantic, she began pulling back out the discarded papers, rereading them with a fresh perspective and felt her heart plummeting in her chest. "No, no, no..." She whispered, wondering what Penelope had gotten herself in too.

Then she froze, wondering what she had gotten _herself_ in too.

What she was holding... were revisions of Jonathan Crane's fear gas and copies of formulas that the fear formula had obviously been the basis for.

It wouldn't have been so bad, the revisions could have been done by Penelope herself out of pure scientific curiosity except... the handwriting wasn't Penelope's. It was handwriting she knew quite well and she was gathering this had been written not too long ago.

Whatever Penelope Young had been trying to do, she hadn't been doing it alone.


End file.
